


Will Always Conquer

by angeloncewas



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Dialogue Heavy, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Manipulative Hermione Granger, Morally Grey Hermione Granger, One Shot, Politics, Post-War, Power Dynamics, draco is strong-minded and weak-willed, like it's just them talking, probably ooc but who's keeping track
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27789034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angeloncewas/pseuds/angeloncewas
Summary: She has a plan and he's just along for the ride. This isn't the first time someone has made themself at home in his head for their own gain, but at least her touch is softer than the last guy's.-Hermione has always been powerful and Draco has always been weak in the face of that kind of strength.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 11
Kudos: 37





	Will Always Conquer

"So, a proposition?" Draco Malfoy's tone is curt, but firm, and it cuts through the meter-thick tension in Hermione Granger's front hall.

* * *

Her first letter had reached him just under a month ago, a graceful owl landing on his bedroom windowsill at an ungodly hour in the morning. It had spoken vague pleasantries, kindness directed towards his mother and a newly engaged Theodore Nott, and had finished with something he couldn’t quite decipher, two sentences that plagued his evenings since.

Hermione’s loopy scrawl taunted him when he closed his eyes.  _ I’m sure adjusting to the future has been difficult for someone such as you, with such a complex past. Perhaps we could meet and discuss. _

_Discuss what?_ he’d sent back, with her own owl and his family’s seal, an almost-kind reminder of who she was speaking to. He feared for a second after it had been sent that it made him look too eager, but he knew she was smart. He knew it better than most, in fact. She would recognize that there wasn’t much taking up his daily life.

The anxiety he felt had only increased as the weeks went by without a response, but one finally came Wednesday afternoon. It curiously was delivered by a different owl, her handwriting neater than that of the last and the message simple.

_ I have a proposition.  _ Followed by an address and a time. 

That Sunday, looked in the mirror of his small flat before leaving. Theo’s extra boxes sat in one corner and Blaise’s door was open to reveal a near-empty room; the man was always out for some reason or another. Draco, adjusting his sleeves, allowed himself to ponder why exactly it was he was going. The headlines, should a particularly nosy reporter catch them, would call it manipulation, or power. A flashy title like “ **Death Eater Fraternizes With Resident Hero** ” would be there in the morning to spoil his breakfast. In his mind flashed pictures of a girl with bushy hair and too-long teeth, voice like Hippogriff claws on a fencepost. He told himself that this was a stupid decision.

That sentiment had echoed around his head all the way to now. Standing inside Hermione Granger, muggleborn witch, darling of the famous Golden Trio’s own flat, watching her delicately tuck a bookmark into the novel on her lap, slowly shut it, and set it beside her.

“Yes. Come in.”

* * *

His footsteps are hesitant as he walks into her sitting room. He tries to place confidence in each one, but there’s something to the ambiance- the gentle lilt of her voice, like she’s laughing at a joke without the punchline having been told- that makes him uncomfortable.

“I simply believe that we could engage in a mutually beneficial relationship,” she says quietly. He can just barely make out the smirk across her lips and the casual set of her shoulders.

In a single second, he understands.

Draco was raised in pureblood politics. His mother was the queen of it all, every laugh coded and wineglass carrying a different meaning. Though Hermione obviously hadn’t, politics were what they were, no matter the kind of blood that ran through your veins. She appeared practiced, or maybe she’d simply studied subtlety enough to replicate it. 

He can only see pieces of her because the light shines heavy towards the front door, meaning also that she can see all of him. The tense, formal cadence to her speech means that this is anything but a social call. And if the leisurely cross of her legs is anything to take note of, she’s immensely confident in the power she holds.

Draco comments on none of this. Hermione has always been powerful and Draco has always been weak in the face of that kind of strength.

“How... Slytherin of you,” he replies carefully, the beats in between each word a measured pause. A compliment and an insult, rolled into a casual observation about what once was. 

Her laugh is melodic and sounds too genuine for the environment. “I suppose you could say that. Ambition is quite lovely.”

“Do you have a lot of it?”

“Do you?”

Draco swallows, his throat feeling dry. It’s been a long time since he’s been put in this kind of position. “I have more realistic expectations than anything else.”

Hermione’s smile only grows, as though something in his rather cynical confession delights her. She gestures with a flat palm to the chair opposite her and he sits, noting that the chair makes it so he’s seated below her eye-level. She reaches forward and grabs a thin champagne flute delicately, taking a sip so small it must’ve only barely touched her tongue. He watches, mesmerized, almost missing her words entirely.

“We could extend the realm of what is ‘realistic’ for you.”

Draco frowns and laces his fingers together. “How?”

Hermione leans back slightly and sighs, a bit of bitterness crossing her face. “The magical world is a hierarchy in which I start at the bottom.”

She catches the confusion Draco lets slip unintentionally and rolls her eyes a little. “Oh, I am aware I’m the absolute top of the bottom. By a long shot. But it’s still the bottom. There are entire worlds of knowledge and experience closed off to me because, well-” she waves her arm at him and laughs and he bites down on his tongue to hide any emotion. He knows, as if he could ever forget, the way the word he called her for years is carved into her flesh. Bellatrix long gone, her mark remains, deep in this girl’s skin. He shudders involuntarily and she purses her lips.

“Don’t be rude Draco. It’s not as though your arms are unmarked.”

It’s a sharp arrow shot, one she knows will hit its target dead center. He knows she’s right, though he rarely stops to ponder it. He’s seen the looks he gets just by walking down a street, much less the horror people don’t bother to conceal should his sleeve accidentally lift.

“So,” he begins in a lazy drawl. “You want my name? It’s not worth much anymore, I hate to tell you.” Draco picks up the other champagne flute and drinks half of it in a quick motion, closing his eyes for a second to calm his thoughts. From the look on her face, she doesn’t buy the nonchalance he seeps into his tone, but it’s as much as he can do.

“I want your title more than any name. It doesn’t matter if you’re a Malfoy or a Yoflam,” she pauses to huff at her own joke for a brief moment, “you’re a pureblood.”

His eyes narrow and she catches his gaze, giving him a warning look. “I’m sure your schoolboy self is overjoyed to hear that. Mudblood Granger, admitting her blood holds her back. Do try to have a bit more class than to show it. You’ll have to pretend to like me if this is going to work.”

He holds up his hands in what is clearly a defensive gesture. Some part of him, probably his father, mocks his weakness, but he’s really not keen on being a particularly pesky stain on a war hero’s wood floor. “I wasn’t thinking that. I was just surprised.”

There’s a gaping hole of silence, then Hermione nods and he lets out the breath he was holding very slowly, bracing himself for more discomfort against the wishes of the headache he feels coming on.

“I have to ask, Granger-”

“-Hermione, please.”

“I have to ask  _Hermione,_ if you have such a poor opinion of me, why me? I’m sure there are other purebloods who would much better suit your fancy.”

“Honestly, there aren’t.” 

Draco tilts his head in what is an obvious sign of disbelief and she shrugs. “There may be others who are more mild-mannered, but I’m not looking for a polite friend to drink tea with. I’m on a political crusade.”

_ Clearly, _ he thinks. This entire evening has been political to an excruciating point. He almost is grateful he was a soldier in the last war and not a diplomat, but he stops himself before he gets too deep into that thought; there is not a thing about that war he appreciates.

“Ambition, then?”

“Power,” she corrects.

“Same thing.”

“Is it?”

The two stare at each other: Hermione loose and languid in her own home, Draco, all nerves. Hermione smiles again at him and he has to remind himself that they are at an impasse here, they are making alliances for something bigger than he has a hold of. That is not a smile of warmth, though it looks like it; he’s sure it’s calculated.

“I have goals,” she says finally. “And I will meet them. There are no ‘ifs’ ‘ands’ or ‘buts.’ I will get there faster with you, but I will reach them on my own if I must.” Hermione leans forward intently, easy mirth still painted across her face. “I get a pureblood in my pocket. You get the Malfoy name attached to the Granger one in the papers. All it’ll cost is a bit of your time.”   


He knows she’s lying then, even if he’s not sure she does. With the slow blink of her eyes and the way this woman has always been considered the brightest witch of their age, he knows it’ll cost him a lot more than some hours that would otherwise be spent staring at his ceiling.

The silence folds over the two of them like a blanket once more and Draco thinks.

* * *

Before his father had been sent to Azkaban, the man had gripped him by the shoulders and whispered their family motto in his ear.  _ Sanctimonia Vincet Semper. _ A bit cliched, he’d be more than willing to admit, but in a way they were his father’s first born more than he. A belief so deep it transcended their time.

Hermione has never been pure. She is purity’s antithesis, in fact, despite the many layers to her words and the ambiance she’s set. This setting is for him. It was meant to entice. In a way, it shows how little she knows him. He wonders if she’d believe him if he told her the size of the room he spends most of his time in now, a box of a thing with paper-thin walls.

No, this deal would have to be for him. Not his father, or his mother’s concern, or even Hermione, only the barest twitch of her wrist giving away her impatience.  _ A flaw,  _ he’s pleased to see. A crack in her confidence. She fears he might refuse.

He makes up his mind then. It had been a stupid decision to come, but it would be stupider to walk away now.

* * *

“So how do we seal this deal? You clearly don’t trust me, at least not fully.”

Hermione’s smile is nothing like anything he’s ever seen from her, usually soft and sure. It’s a feral thing, all teeth, something battered and broken behind what is a flawless mouth.

"Kneel," she says, simply.

Draco is taken aback. "What makes you think I'd ever kneel to you?"

"You’ll lick the soles of Voldemort's shoes, but not mine?"

She gives him an exaggerated pout and something in him churns, bubbles, threatens to pour out of his mouth. This isn’t politics, this is a fight, a battle in a war and he’s so tired. Draco isn’t sure what side he’s supposed to be on and if it’s the same as the one he is, or was, or will be.

"He was going to kill my family," he replies. It feels like the thing has hardened into a diamond, clear and sharp in his chest.

"What makes you think I wouldn't do the same?"

Some quip about virtuous Gryffindors dies on his tongue as he studies the look in her eyes. There’s very little there. She doesn’t look evil, no manic light, just almost bored, as if this is something she needs to get through quickly on the way to more important matters.

_ Windows to the soul,  _ he thinks sardonically.

“This is… crazy,” he finally says.

She doesn’t even seem insulted, downing the rest of her champagne seemingly without a care. “I kept a grown woman trapped in a jar with some sticks in fourth year. This is hardly anything.” Her eyes brighten a bit at the shock that slides across his face.  “What it comes down to, Draco, is that you have always put yourself on the high ground. You were the pureblood. The one with connections. Things are different now. You want my deal? Show me.”

“What happened to the rule abiding swot?” he can’t help but ask.

“What happened to the rude little boy who cried to his father?” she quips back.

He draws his lips back in what only can be described as a snarl and replies without thinking. “Buried next to the man himself.”

She freezes. It’s just for a second, so slight he wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been looking. Something flickers across her face, cutting through the confidence, and then she shrugs, changing the subject with ease. “Rules are made to be bent and broken, even my own.”

“Are you saying I could break your rules?”

He feels like a piece of prey this woman has decided to toy with, the last man standing in a bloodbath, kept around for a bit of entertainment. He wonders if she’s always been like this, or if the war took her just far enough to snap, but he knows better than to ask. Her teeth flash white in the dim light and he sees himself caught between them.

“We'll see how long of a leash I give you.”

_ Lovely.  _ “Why would I say yes to this?”

Hermione appears to take his question seriously, a similar expression crossing her face as when a Professor would ask a particularly difficult question. He wonders if this, too, is a part of the game, one last parry before the killing blow.

“What else do you have?” she asks, nothing but genuine curiosity in her tone.

There’s a kind of quietness in that sentence, despite the undercutting sarcasm. It holds a touch less bravado and character than she’s had the entire evening.  _ We’re in this together,  _ it says.  _ We’re stuck, and this is our way out. _ She’s right, as she always is. His father is gone, his mother barely lucid. His friends and flatmates are either leaving for their long-term loves or don’t care enough to check in and see if Draco is still there. He doesn’t have a future, just a past and a mark on his arm.

The real question, deeper than any she could ask, is whether or not he’s going to allow Hermione Granger of all people to carry him forward. This wouldn’t be a partnership, despite what he knows they’d tell the press. He would be her lapdog, buying her baubles and speaking highly of her policies. 

He watches her bite her lip in the space the gap in their conversation leaves, a hesitant gesture she quickly stops and covers with the same cool look in his direction, but he sees it. He sees Granger, somewhere underneath all the glitz and studied body language. A girl running on bravery, head full of fantasies about changing the world.

If anyone can do it, he supposes, it’s her.

With that, he stands up. He can see where apprehension fills her, watching his slight movements to see if he’s going to leave. He shakes his head slightly at the thought of his father’s scorn again, a lingering memory from years ago. Flashing the most confident smile he’s managed all night, Draco Malfoy, ex-Slytherin prince, ex-Death Eater, kneels softly at Hermione’s feet. His smirk only grows at the gasp she cannot seem to contain.

“We have a deal, my lady.”

Her hand finds his hair and he startles slightly as she runs her fingers through it, his head still bowed. 

“Wonderful.”

  


**Author's Note:**

> i had this thought about draco being the kind of guy who would be easy to get into a cult, the sort who melts when power is present, thus his allegiance to voldemort. some lines came to me and then way too many hours later i had this mess of hopefully-not-too stilted dialogue. i have ideas within this universe (why is hermione after power? let me tell you-) but i'm constantly starting long stories i never finish so i wanted to post this as a glimpse into their world. hope you enjoyed ♡


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